by Glenn Currier
The last time I was sick
throwing up pints of ick
not once did I think of love
or anything above
that porcelain refuge
the object of my deluge.
Being sick focuses the brain
on the body’s strain
chains freedom to pity
makes one feel so bitty
all you can see is the floor to the pot
hoping you’ll be in time to squat.
Next morning when I hope it’s passed
questions arise in me to ask
what if this pause in my health
is no pause but a demise of the wealth
I’ve so long taken for granted
and I’ll be forever stuck and disenchanted.
Scarcity focuses the brain
like drought makes you ache for rain
or poverty narrows your sight
to the very next meal or bite
what you don’t have in hand
makes you do anything you can
makes you shout and sing
for that longed-for thing
you look hither and yon
for what seems so far gone.
Then you must work on relearning
to let go of sick yearning.
Author's Note: Written the morning after a bout with the upchucks. Also a reflection on some stuff I've been thinking about lately. Funny how poetry brings seemingly disparate things together.
Posted on 11/26/2018
Copyright © 2018 Glenn Currier
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 11/26/18 at 07:46 PM|
Evocative imagery...expression, Glenn. Something we all can relate to in our own way. Good use of rhyme also to deliver the message.
|Posted by Brian Francis on 11/27/18 at 03:09 PM|
It is a different thing being sick and young and being sick and old. At least a nice new poem was heaved up for us. I like your work. --bf